If now and then we encounter pages that explode, pages that wound and sear, that wring groans and tears and curses, know that they come from a man with his back up, a man whose only defenses left are his words and his words are always stronger than the lying, crushing weight of the world, stronger than all the racks and wheels which the cowardly invent to crush out the miracle of personality.
If any man ever dared to translate all that is in his heart, to put down what is really his experience, what is truly his truth, I think then the world would go to smash, that it would be blown to smithereens and no god, no accident, no will could ever again assemble the pieces, the atoms, the indestructible elements that have gone to make up the world.
… no picture, this is just perfect….
The man who used that voice has no native language. He had learned the use of an alien tool. The words floated in the air behind him as he walked.
There’s something dark in me, deep under all my thoughts, something I can’t measure out with thoughts, a sort of life that can’t be expressed in words and which is my life, all the same.
… a mad crackpot genius named Wittgenstein who believed that everything was words. Really. If your car would not start, it was apparently to be
understood as a language problem. If you were unable to love, you were lost in language.
What we seem to have is a tale full of sound and fury, and signifying itself,signifying a durability rooted in inconclusiveness, in the impossibility of there being a last word.
I said, I don’t promise. You know I don’t promise. If you promise it means that every time you don’t promise it’s okey for you to be lying. Have faith in my word.
…an author is free to mean anything he wishes by the words he employs.